Misery Loves Company
by RaydorCakes
Summary: Following Sharon's death, Andy meets an unexpected friend who shares a similar story. One-shot.


Andy Flynn sits at the bar, staring at his whiskey as he had been for what felt like hours. He knew he shouldn't drink, knew there were plenty more constructive things for him to be doing, and yet, he was still drawn to the bar.

The last few days had been hell, and in some bizarre way, Andy felt like he'd earned this. Like he earned a reason to relapse because he'd survived losing the love of his life, like getting blackout drunk was some kind of reward.

Andy reaches out to spin his sobriety ring on his finger, his lips drawing into a hard pout when he feels the smooth metal of his wedding band instead, yet another grim reminder of what he'd lost.

"How long has it been?" A voice questions as a man sits beside him.

"What are you talking about?" Andy turns to face the man, his whiskey still abandoned on the bar.

"Since you've had a drink? My friend liked to kick a few back in his day; I recognise the look." Andy eyes the man curiously; he has salt-and-pepper hair that's more black than grey, a thick mustache, gravelly voice, and skin so calloused it was obvious the man had fought in many wars.

"What does it matter to you?" Andy questions with irritation, lifting the glass to his lips before frustratedly setting it back down, "Why don't you mind your own business, pal?"

"I'm sorry." The man apologises, "It's just that I'm new in town, and I saw your badge. I've been in the marines all my life, so I was glad to run into one of my own."

"Yeah?" Andy rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh, bothered by the man beside him, "And what is it that brought you to our beautiful city?" He questions with sarcasm.

"Well," the man takes a heavy swig of his beer and lets out a deep breath before answering the lieutenant's question, "my… Laura passed away. I needed to get out of that godsforsaken city, away from all those memories of her." He looks to Flynn before extending his hand cautiously, "Bill Adama."

"Andy Flynn." When they end the shake, Flynn picks up his glass and downs the whiskey in one swift gulp.

"That went down easier than I thought it would." Bill states, "How long were you sober for?"

"Long enough to know better." Andy answers simply, "So…" he begins unsurely, "Laura, who was she?" Andy doesn't particularly want to talk to Adama, but is grateful to have someone distracting him from his own heartbreak.

"She was my sine qua non." Bill answers before taking another swig of his beer, "I loved her, but it took so long for us to get the timing right. With me in the military and her in the government, there were times when we were at each other's throats, times we couldn't be in the same room without screaming at each other. She was diagnosed with cancer six months ago, and we dropped everything." Andy looks empathetically to the man beside him, "She always wanted me to build her a cabin, but it had to be in the _perfect_ place. We spent what time she had left travelling, trying to build her that damned cabin. We made it all the way to Africa, to this perfect field in Tanzania; I set up camp for us, a little tent. We watched the gazelles," he recalls longingly, "the flamingos. We watched the sunset, and in the morning, she left. I spent the next week building her that cabin; an easterly view, a lake so clear it was like looking through glass, a small garden, it was everything she'd wanted it to be." Bill's gaze is far off as he finishes his drink, grateful when the bartender brings him a refill.

"I'm sorry." Flynn responds, his drinking companion's story strangely similar to his own, "The world is a fucked up place."

"Yes, it is." Bill nods in agreement, a bitter smile pulling at his lips, "The world is frakked up."

Silence falls between the two men, each of them downing their respective drinks. It's a moment later that Bill notices the jewelry on Flynn's hand, and he comments carefully, "It's Christmas, what are you doing here rather than at home?" He tips his head towards Andy's wedding ring curiously, "If I had been out drinking on President's Day, Laura would've killed me."

Andy polishes off his whiskey and slams the empty glass down on the bar before looking to Bill, "My wife passed away a few days ago." He admits shakily, "And this is how I repay her." He picks his refilled glass up and empties it again, "Alone, in a bar on fucking Christmas. She loved Christmas, was obsessed with these angels. I got her one last year, and it never, _ever_ ," he breathes out, "occurred to me that our first Christmas together could've also been our last."

"You weren't married long then?" Bill asks, and although he can tell it's a raw topic, he asks the question anyway. Much like Andy had been, Bill was asking questions to distract himself from his own pain.

"A month, almost exactly." Andy lets out a puff of air and bows his head for a moment, "She was sick then, wanted to postpone the wedding, but I wouldn't let her. Looking back on it, I'm so glad we didn't postpone it. If we had, and she had…" his voice trails off, "before I had the chance to marry her, I would've regretted it for the rest of my life."

"Hm." Bill lets out a small hum as he sips his beer, realising he shared another sentiment with the man beside him. He never asked Laura to marry him, although he had wanted to, and by the time he built up the courage it'd been too late. He'd slipped his ring on her cold finger, kissed her hand, and buried her. That was the closest he got to making her Mrs. Laura Adama, and he regretted that every day.

"It sounds like you really loved her." Adama breathes, still using Flynn as a distraction from his own thoughts.

"I did," Andy's lips press into a thin line and he nods his head in agreement, "I do."

"It gets better." Adama offers a small smile, his blue eyes conveying his sincerity, "It takes a while, it does, but it gets better."

"If it gets better, why are you in a bar on Christmas?" Andy questions seriously, "Since it sounds like we're both fighting the same demons, how much better off could you be?"

"The change of scenery has helped." Bill sips his beer as he looks to Flynn, "I don't have to keep driving past those same restaurants we went to, I don't have to keep walking past the same museums and statues I'd take her to just to see the smile she'd get on her face. I dropped everything to take care of her, and once she passed away, I left everything I knew because my love for her, it consumed me. From the moment I opened my eyes she was in my blood like cheap wine; bittersweet, tinged with regret. I'd never be free of her, nor did I want to be, but I had to pull myself away before it killed me."

"I can't just leave, I don't want to." Andy argues, surprised that a stranger was damn near convincing him to move, "I have a job here, I have family here."

"Laura and I had a whole squadron of kids." Bill chuckles to himself, "I had two sons: Lee and Zak; we had so many kids who weren't blood, too. Kara, Sam, Karl, Cally, Anastasia, Kat, Galen, Sharon," Andy's gaze falls sadly, "we were a family, and I had to leave it. They understood, still keep in touch. As for your job," Bill clinks his mug against Andy's glass, "there's always another."

"Not without her, there isn't." Andy shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey.

"She's the lucky one, that's what you're thinking, isn't it? You've stepped way beyond the Red Line into uncharted land. Limited motivation, no wife, and now no hope! Maybe it would have been better for you to have died with her instead of drifting out here in the emptiness. You're wrong. Sometimes you have to roll the hard six, take the chance even if it is a stretch. You have to save yourself or the darkness will eat you alive."

Andy sits silently for a moment, swishing the whiskey in his mouth as he thinks. They were valid points, even if they did sound like something out of a sci-fi drama.

"You're right." He finally agrees, still unsure what acknowledging it would mean for his future. Andy sits quietly for a moment, Adama glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, "I need a vacation. Sharon and I, we never got to go on our honeymoon. I have the tickets, they've been sitting on her desk, collecting dust. I think that… might be what I need. To see Ireland for her." Andy downs his last glass of whisky before rising from his chair, "I'll see you around." He offers Adama a small wave and walks out of the bar.

Flynn goes home and packs his suitcase, a wave of relief flooding over him. He loved Sharon and missed her immensely, but there was so much life left in him. So much life in the world that he hadn't experienced, that _they_ hadn't experienced; there were things they'd wanted to see, places they'd wanted to go, and Andy was going to do it all.

 _There was so much life in the world, and he was going to see it all. For her._


End file.
